At Elm Street Tattoo’s Friday the 13th marathon, there’s only one tattoo on the menu.

Not surprisingly, the first person in line at the start of a 24-hour tattoo marathon has earlobes stretched to the size of Christmas ornaments. Rush Coleman, 18, also has black metal piercings like buckshot across his baby face and 20 tattoos climbing his athletic frame.

The Carrollton native and heavy-metal musician is waiting outside Elm Street Tattoos to get his 21st, the number 13 over a trio of Xs and the word “edge,” one of hundreds off the 13-theme menu. Coleman will get his new art at 12:01 a.m., kick-starting Friday the 13th.

For 18 years, Oliver Peck, Elm Street’s co-owner (with Dean Williams) and resident star tattoo artist, has been inking ones and threes every time Friday the 13th rolls around.

“I just put a 13 on myself one year and everyone wanted one,” he says, having a brief quiet moment inside a Sailor Jerry rum-sponsored Airstream trailer parked outside the studio.

Ten years ago, Peck started the tattoo marathons, and in 2008 the 39-year-old Lakewood resident entered the Guinness Book of World Records for most tattoos drawn in 24 hours — 415 — besting his ex-wife, Kat Von D, the LA Ink reality star and Jesse James’ fiancée.

(“Every time she does some dumb [expletive], TMZ calls me,” Peck says with a laugh.)

The record still stands.

Peck saw inked bikers as a child growing up in Fort Worth and “thought they were cool.”

“Except my face and feet, I’m pretty solid,” Peck says, his ever-present toothpick bouncing with his words. His markings include “more than a hundred” number 13s scattered through the dense foliage. The digits pop up around a swallow swooping across his neck, sailor iconography such as anchors, faces on his chest, his dad’s name on his knuckles and random words such as “brisket.”

By 11:45 p.m. Thursday, the line had grown to more than 200 customers who would each pay $13 and a $7 “good luck tip.” Peck crosses through the crowd, which now has the look (cut-offs and heels on women, stiff ball caps and high-tops on men) and smell (pizza, cigarettes, gas generators, marijuana) of a music festival.

At midnight, the music inside Elm Street Tattoo radically changes from Cab Calloway to AC/DC. Peck goes to work on an art director from the Dallas Observer, and Coleman, disappointed he didn’t get Peck, sits down in front of artist Bubba Reeves. Coleman lays his head on a black leather cushion and commits to a blank stare, somewhat of a yoga face.

As the needle repeatedly punctures the skin behind his right ear, forming the tiny words and letters, Coleman’s eyes slightly tear, his sailboat-tatted arms dangle, his hands go limp and he drops his “Straight Edge” hat.

Two minutes later, Coleman screeches away in an orange ’60s muscle car, and Wylie native Porsche Diamond Moore is sitting down for her second 13 — nestled in a skull with a party hat.

“Only 24 hours to go!” Peck screams over the chorus of “Shoot to Thrill.”